Thirteen Seasons With You
by Sir Lady Puppie'sbottom
Summary: I wonder if he knows how to kiss her exactly the way she likes it. I wonder if he knows, if he'll ever know, how to order for her from Monet's with just a glance at her expression and her outfit. Sheri helps Clay heal after Hannah, but will he lose her too when Alex comes? Can he even take care of a baby for health class? Sheri/Clay romance. Like Season 1, Epi 6. Teen, later M.


*A/N: **REVIEW PLEASE!**

 **** Story goes from past to present, like in the show. There is a missing girl at the school, does Sheri have anything to do with that?**

THIRTEEN SEASONS WITH YOU

* * *

I'M YOUR MESS

1

* * *

 _Now_

I wonder if he knows how to kiss her exactly the way she likes it.

I wonder if he knows, if he'll ever know, how to order for her from Monet's with just a glance at her expression and her outfit.

I wonder if he'll reteach her of the meaning of _irony_ , like I did, when I cheered for the cheerleader throughout all those games.

I wonder if he'll know, or care, about how it feels when she gasps in his mouth whenever he steals a kiss.

I wonder if he knows how much I _absolutely_ hate him.

I wonder if he freaking knows that I didn't think I could possibly hate him even more, after what he did to Hannah. I wonder if he knows the absolute rage I feel whenever I see him so much as _gaze_ at the new love of my life, after breaking the heart of my last. I wonder if he knows I _day dream_ about Montgomery De La Cruz punching him again, and again, and _again_ in the face like last year, only this time _I'm_ Montgomery De La Cruz every—single—fucking—time.

I wonder if Alex Standall—

"Clay?" my AP Literature teacher this year, Ms. Goya, says softly, trying to capture my attention. I blink, rapidly. Then look at her again, instead of the window. She sits back and exhales. "Clay, did you hear anything I just said?"

 _No._ "Uh, yeah, yeah, I did," I say, quicker than I mean to. Lies always have a way of spilling out quickly, probably because they're not meant to be told, and it's always an indicator to the listener to know that the speaker is lying. That they're a fucking liar. That's one thing I learned from Sheri. How to lie, and how to lie quickly.

I'm not as good as her so Ms. Goya's eyebrows knit together, and at first she says nothing, then she simply calls my bluff. "Well, Clay Jensen, what did I say?"

"I have short term memory," I say sharply, bitterly. I can't help it, that's how my mind always is now right after I think about Alex. Thinking about pummeling him, because I know I didn't get to do that in real-life, yet. But there's time. Senior year only just started.

"Clay," Ms. Goya says, very patiently. "Clay, I understand the news of your fellow student was made only this morning, but your grade is highly important. Now, I talked with your English teacher last year who recommended you for this class, which is a college-level class, and your teacher had nothing but bright things to say about you. You had perfect grades, even tutored…"

Sheri. I tutored Sheri. Our first kiss was during an assignment where I tutored her. It was at my house, something to get my mind from Hannah, and there she was—in perfect need of help. Of a tutor. I didn't even have to close my eyes to remember exactly what she wore, coral pink sweater, a patterned, small dress that hugged her body, and black, flat shoes. Her hair, curly as usual, her eyes wide, and innocent, and good, as usual.

Sheri didn't dress like that now. Not anymore. Her wardrobe had evolved somewhere between early this past summer, over the course of the summer, and two weeks ago, when she broke up with me.

If she tells it, and she has, because people have asked, she didn't 'break up' with me. She 'asked for a break' and I exploded. Not true. How could that possibly true, unless I'm some sort of X-Men I don't know about, and I can explode, reassemble and forget I ever exploded _without_ even injuring the person I supposedly exploded in front of? Of course, she meant figuratively, but even that won't work in my mind. My neck was red, and I was shouting, but I was more accurately _imploding_. Inside anyway.

I felt myself, and my world, and my immediate vision, caving in. I felt—

" _Clay Jensen,_ " Ms. Goya says, now with a note of deep annoyance in her voice and her manicured fingers tapping on the table for my attention. One of those fingers being an engagement ring.

 _Because of course the universe wants to fuck with me._

"Clay, there's still time for you to be put in regular senior English—"

"No way," I say. _No fucking way_. There is only one now since half the teachers were on strike—long story made short: raises because they stuffed us with another school that was under reconstruction, which meant more students, more work, more pay. That was fair, but they wanted twenty, thirty percent increases—on our parents' budget? Wasn't going to happen. So, they rented out the auditorium for senior classes, like Senior English, and guess who is in that class: Sheri. _Another class with Sheri?_ Ha. No way. "I just need time to…regroup. Refocus."

"Oh," Ms. Goya says with a touch of surprise. _He speaks after all, he can respond! He's listening for once_. "Is everything okay? Like at school, any problems at home. Was Sofia Gottreich your friend?"

Another _ha, no way_. Sheri never "hated" anyone, but she came so super very close to hating Sofia Gottreich with all her 'good person' heart in her slender, size two body. While I was with Sheri, there was no being friends with Spanish-German Sofia Gottreich.

"No, I just…other things," I say, wanting to cut this after-class talk short. "Other things. Hey, um, I can't be late to gym. Do you mind, please, writing me a note? I just, my mind's all over the place, but I'll recoup. I just don't need to add to it by getting a tardy." I add, "Please," because that's just what nice Clay Jensen does with his nice, trusting Clay Jensen voice.

I cringe at my own third person.

Maybe I am exploding after all.

 _Before_

 _1 year ago_

My eyes were bloodshot. Again.

I rinsed the blood out of my mouth, watching it lapse into the running sink, again. I was thinking so much of Hannah, listening to her tape, so consumed, that I'd brushed my teeth so hard I bled, again.

I pulled my toothbrush, gingerly, out of my mouth, rinsing it off.

I was going to school today, not knowing who'd I be mad at today because of what they did to Hannah, how they contributed mercilessly to her decision. Watching all of them get to live normal, happy lives, like nothing ever even happened.

I rinsed out the last of my blood from the sink. I guess it was taking a toll on me.

But I had to keep reminding myself not everyone did this. There were some people so unattached from Hannah, they'd probably never even heard her voice before. Which felt like a crime because I could get so lost in it, it was like I was traveling back to her past, and imagining her right in front of me with my eyes closed…her telling me everything right in my ear.

A knock came at the door.

"Hey, you decent?" Mom asked, her blonde hair already combed and ready for the day ahead. Though the door was open, as she lately requested, she wasn't the barging-in type. She was the sort to hang out by the doorway, acting like she wasn't sneaking up on me each time she just stood there for a breath, gathering up her courage, before speaking.

"Hey Mom," I said.

I stared at her eyes for a moment, and briefly, nonsensically, thought of telling her my heart was breaking inside of me. That my heart was breaking every single day. That I missed her, missed Hannah. I almost wanted to ask what was wrong with me, if it was possible to feel so much grief that I couldn't stop. That I was going to sleep only to wake up to her voice again. That I hadn't finished everything and yet I was starting from the very beginning because I didn't want to lose her when I did finish everything.

My stomach twisted, and I thought better of it. "What's up?" I asked.

Mom walked in, smiling a bit, proud of herself. "So…I was thinking, because it's been a few weeks into school, and you've been summer clothes shopping a bit for the new year, that maybe you could _also_ use a new hobby for the new school year?"

I thought of that creep. That stalker.

Tyler Down.

"No, um, I'm good," I said. "No hobbies. Nothing needed really. I kind of just want to focus on school."

I know this worried my lawyer mom. She wanted me to look like an all-rounder for colleges next year since junior year now would be important. She wanted me to tackle some extracurricular to pad my application and pen the most beautiful, heartfelt, enlightened college essay a junior could reflectively write. She wanted me to do both ACTs and SATs, but Hannah had disrupted everything. Well, not disrupted…delayed? Either way, Mom wouldn't say so out loud.

This was her alternate approach.

And I get it, I'm still her son, regardless of my friends, and it is important I go to college, have a good career, support myself and my one-day family. I get that, I really do, and I want to tell her that I do, but I wait for her to speak.

I could tell it'd been on her mind.

She shifted uneasily. "No hobbies needed? You just listen to music all day—which isn't so bad because it's better than you spiraling out of control, not that I think that you'd be spiraling at all, I just…" She pulled in a deep breath, and I waited. Patiently. "I just thought maybe it could give you something fresh, something new. Not to take away from the old, at all, just you know…I hope." She winced.

"Yeah, Mom," I said. My heart breaking all over again. "I know."

I felt like I was bleeding a bit. Right in front of my mom, so I diverted my eyes, and her attention. "So, is this open-door policy set for the whole year, or?" I started. "It's been, like, two weeks already."

She snorted a laugh. "You came home _drunk_ , as a _high schooler_ , and I get it, you're allowed one free pass regardless to make stupid mistakes, but you really scared me for a couple of weeks. If me and your father equally see an improvement, a return of our normal Clay, you can have it back. Not saying you're not normal! I mean—I meant, who you used to be. How easy going."

 _Not sad all the time._

Sadness was a contagion I learned. A transmittable disease that spread from person to person. For example, imagine a really happy atmosphere with you and your friends, or, if you're like me and you don't really have any friends, you can imagine you and someone: a parent, a pet, a good movie you're in the middle of, then—bam! Sad person walks in the room.

Changes the mood, doesn't it?

That was me. That was me for weeks now, and I knew it, but it's like I couldn't move on. I was soaked in guilt, pulled down by it, and there was always a comfort, always a cure before in just curling up beneath my sheets in my bed. But now it was Hannah's microphoned voice. And the real Hannah was gone.

My eyes went red again and I blinked, rapidly. I tugged on my backpack strings and didn't bother trying to see if my voice could be secure enough to talk to my mom without straining, so I rushed up to her, kissed her cheek, and made my way downstairs.

I forgot to pay attention if she was still talking to me or not, I just made my way downstairs. I swallowed as much spit as I could, and yelled I was biking to school. That I'd buy lunch on the way.

When I got to school, I saw Alex. I saw his pale dyed-blonde hair first—then his expression. How angry and intense he looked. It was like he was absorbed in something, holding onto his textbooks so tight, his chest seemed puffed, or maybe that was another sign of his anger.

I didn't care to look long at him. The last time I was with him he and his buddies kidnapped me into his car and he was speeding down the street like a mad racer, as if he couldn't have crashed the car with all of us inside at the blink of his eyes.

I was in the midst of listening to Hannah anyway. I'd heard all these parts so frequently that I caught myself mouthing to her words, a new habit I picked up. _See, Mom, I can do something new._

Except, this was a problem, because sometimes someone looking at me will think I'm trying to talk to them from far away, and as they make their way to me, I can't just say 'hey, I'm listening to Hannah's tapes—yeah, that Hannah, but don't worry about it though, I'm not talking to you, or anybody for that matter—' and walk away. Life doesn't work that way. At least mine right now complicates it. I feel obligated to smile, entertain them with chatter, focusing on their lives while trying my _hardest_ not to wonder if they're on one of the tapes, or if they can tell I haven't slept without tears in my eyes for days on end, or if they notice that I'm beginning to unravel at just the very thought of Hannah. I don't care that it's not healthy, I care that I can still hear her. I can tell that I can still pretend that—

A car horn blared and I jolted, thinking it was for me.

I stepped further onto the sidewalk, lifting my hand to apologize—when I realize it's for Alex.

Before I could register it, he's arguing with someone in a car. Someone who got _out_ of his car, taller than him, shouting back at him. Someone who's Montgomery De La Cruz.

I started to walk away, knowing it's not my business, and that it's probably just a stupid fight. But the way Alex approached that car, and his earlier look of anger, made my eyes draw back. After that, I couldn't look away.

Not even when Montgomery was beating Alex to a pulp. At first, I stepped forward, but everything, _everything_ , that Hannah had said about Alex and how he betrayed her, humiliated her, manipulated her to get back at Jess, kept ringing in my ears, so I planted my feet, and looked like everyone else.

After awhile though, after Alex's eye was swelling up, I gave a short look around the crowd, waiting for someone to go and get a teacher. I exhaled, knowing that if these drama-loving teenagers were going to get anyone, it'd be their friends to come and watch. So, my foot stepped in the direction to go get some adult that'd probably get a shiner like Alex just for trying to stop Montgomery De La Cruz.

Except, Mr. Porter moved through the crowd, fast.

By the time I was taking my next breath, Montgomery was off of Alex, though his nose was still flaring, and his heat still emanating through his shouts. I pulled off my beats headphones just to listen.

" _He started it!_ " Montgomery yelled. "He fucking walked up to my car, told me to get out, and fight him, so I did!"

"Oh, so you just do what everyone says for you to do now?" Mr. Porter replied, almost as heatedly. "In that case, come with me straight to the main office." He crouched down, trying to help Alex, but kept an eye on Montgomery, just to make sure he didn't storm off.

Three days' suspension.

And I'm not talking about Alex, who started the fight. It was for Montgomery alone, somehow. Reckless driving or something Marcus had argued while we deliberated. Courtney concurred with worried looks towards Alex, hoping they could buy his loyalty with a light punishment: a warning. But it backfired, just like she deserved, because Alex stormed out—but not without calling her a fucking hypocrite.

I didn't know who I was gladder for. Alex getting beat up, like he deserved, or Courtney getting yelled at, like she deserved. I knew it was both, and I knew Hannah would've loved to see it. I was in a good mood, smiling a little, glad it was just us to relish it—me, and Hannah in my head.

I sat down at one of the benches, the air pounding and hot, still reminding the town that it's still, technically, summer.

I didn't mind it, even with a sweater. I really couldn't mind it at all.

As I turned to fix a stuck zipper on my backpack, someone came and sat down next to me. When I glanced over I saw legs first, but when I trailed my eyes up—I saw Sheri. She was slurping on something, and talking.

I peeled off my headphones, and for the first time all day, started a real conversation with someone. I liked Sheri. It was like seeing a human, finally, in a sea of monsters.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey, Clay," she said, and began asking me about one of our assignments. I thought to pretend to shuffle through my things to double check, like I didn't already know all the due dates and requirements of my work, but I didn't feel like pretending on such a high.

"Yeah, it's actually due tomorrow," I said, wincing up at her, blocking a bit of the sun that beamed behind her with my arm.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "No way, are you serious? Oh my god, I thought it was due Thursday," she said, flipping her backpack to the front of her to double check, but she gave up, still in shock. "Are you serious?"

"I'm serious."

She sighed, checking her small watch. "Then I have to get to the library to work on it, like now," she groaned. She placed her backpack more securely on her back, and smoothed down her floral-printed dress, before rising up to a stand. I noticed how part of her coral pink sweater dress didn't even get sucked up in the fluid motion of her putting on her backpack. It was like she was perfect that way. Adorably forgetful. Maybe also just busy.

"Yeah, okay," I said, waving goodbye to her.

I reached for my headphones again, and nearly pressed play, but my thumb hovered. It was a sudden—sudden strangeness. Like I didn't want to.

It was so unlike me that I just sat there for a moment, not knowing what to do with that emotion. Not want to listen to Hannah's voice, with twenty minutes before the bell even rang? I bit and chewed on my lip, feeling uneasy, unsafe. It began to break my heart, that squeezing, sad feeling—so I stood up, trying to shake it off. My pushed my thumb towards the play button again—but I didn't press it downwards.

Instead, I went after Sheri.

 _Now_

"Hey, Jensen!" Katie from Home Ec. class greets, her hair bouncing like a jump rope behind her as she comes up to my locker. Her smile is really big, like she's excited to see me.

Katie Johnson is _never_ this excited to see me. I'm fairly sure she doesn't even know what my first name is. I don't even quiz her. "Hey, Katie."

"Hey," she says again, twirling around a bit, biting on her lip almost mischievously. That's Sheri's trick. She wants me to ask her something.

"What's up?" I give in, weak as usual. "What's going on, you look excited." I even hear myself chuckle a little. _Fake. Fake. Fake._

I'm nervous inside—like imagine watching a tsunami gear and rise up, right about to hit you with the biggest wave you've ever seen in your life. The type where you can't even see the top of—

"So, Jensen," Katie begins, continuing my theory that she does not know my first name. "I was wondering if you heard the special, lovey-dovey news?"

I feel my throat tighten. I try to cough. I try to swallow. _Please don't be dating Alex_ , my mind thinks, begging. _Please don't be dating Alex, Sheri_. I'd heard rumbles of it. And they are so close, so suffocating, and so _close_ now that they're sharing a baby doll for health class. Alex wanted to go all in, and is even _kissing_ her. He even bought her a little ring from Claire's or something like that. He didn't even know Sheri likes Pandora.

Either that or he doesn't care about the effort.

 _Who are you kidding, Clay, it's Alex, so both of those things_. Careless, uncaring, lack of paying attention to detail Alex Standall as usual.

"That's it?" Katie asks. "You're not even going to guess?"

 _If I do, I think I'll throw up. If I do and I'm_ _ **right**_ , _I will_ _ **definitely**_ _throw up._

Katie waits a bit longer and I blink at her. "Jensen, you're no fun," she pouts.

"What is it, Johnson?" I ask, exasperated. I'm past the ability to play games.

"We're going to be parents!" she giggles, unbelievably happy. "You and me Clay Jensen, and our little baby girl, whom I've taken the liberty of naming her, I named her after our precious school—Liberty. I like it. Do you like it?"

My heart pounds in my chest. My throat runs dry and I take a look around. "I can't get a do over?" I nearly ask out loud. I look over Katie Johnson: red hair, green eyes. Part of Sheri's group.

There has to be absolutely no way.

"Uh, Katie," I say, trying to formulate words, before I remember, "we don't even have the same class."

"Not _before we didn't_!" she sings out. "But today you do, fifth period. In fact, you were just added like ten minutes ago. Your class was overfilled, and they spilled a few into our class, at least ten. So now you're in my class."

 _No, actually, I'm in_ _ **Sheri's**_ _class, because everybody loves Sheri whenever she's in a room._ "I don't believe it," I mutter. "I don't fucking believe it."

"Excuse me, Jensen, that is no way to talk to your girlfriend—and I better at least be your girlfriend, not some one night stand, okay? I was going to say wife, but you have to earn it, plus _propose_. Like Alex did for She—" Katie, graciously, stops herself. I nearly like her as a person just for that. She clears her throat. "You just have to earn it, Jensen."

"I don't think I'm going to stay in that class, actually," I say, pushing my fingers through the loops of my backpack. "I just—I need gym at fifth period. I need it. It keeps me awake long enough to get through the rest of the day. I'll talk to the front office or something and they can replace me with someone else."

Katie put her hand on my shoulder. "Clay," she says, and my eyebrow rise that she actually knows my name. I guess she just decided not to use it. "You're a senior, so you're going to be in health class no matter what. You basically _have_ to do this assignment, it's the star of everyone's high school year, like prom, or senior holiday, or something. Whoever you're going to be with, you just have to embrace it. Even if it's not…you know who," she says, trying to be careful of my feelings for not saying her name.

I feel a bit grateful for that.

13


End file.
